


Home is the Hunter

by kijikun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/pseuds/kijikun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's home is wrapped in Castiel's wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is the Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Spoilers: Brief spoilers for the end of Season 5, reference with no details to off camera to molestation of a young girl. Mention of Sam/Gabriel

The Impala pulls into a parking lot of the run-down Happy Hill motel. Dean can smell the ocean when he gets out of the car.

He thinks he could stand not smelling that heady mix for a while.

He and Sam -- they're both quiet. Exhaustion seems to weight Dean down and it can't be much better for Sam. They've lived more life than their years and you can't help but feel it. And Dean will never, never, forgive himself that he couldn't save Sam from that.

He wasn't able to save that selkie either. Poor girl, lying shivering on the floor of that cellar, clinging to the burnt remains of her seal skin. Dean hopes she'll -- she'll something, that Julie and Mark will help her have some sort of life.

Dean's not at all sorry Jason Harper's skull was smashed against the rocks. Selkies were harmless, gentle, and he'd lured their young females ashore using his own daughter.

Hopefully Julie and Mark will be able to help her too.

"Dean, we did everything we could," Sam says softly. He fingers the key to his motel room, and Dean knows he's going to offer for them to share tonight. Cas won't be around and Gabriel is -- someplace. Dean refuses to make Sam give up Gabriel's secrets. There's no reason for them to have separate rooms this time, but Dean -- Dean doesn't think he could handle Sam's nightmares.

He's not strong enough.

Dean runs his hand over his face. "We should have been able to save her."

Sam presses his lips together. "We did."

"That's not saving. She can't go home." The words rub his throat raw.

"She's still alive and we kept it from ever happening again," Sam argues. "That's why we do this remember?"

Dean wants to. God, he wants to. "Yeah, I remember." He's almost shocked that Sam still loves him enough to not call him on the lie. "I'm going to shower and crash for a few hours."

"You mean you're going to use up most of this place's hot water and call Cas," Sam teases, fitting the key into the lock.

"Dude, stop making it sound like I call him for booty calls," Dean protests, though he grins. He pulls his key out of his pocket and wishes he could call Cas. But Heaven isn't on his long distance calling plan.

Sam snorts. "Try to keep it down, hey Dean?" Sam tells him, pausing in the doorway to his room.

"I don't know Sammy, when you're good you're good," Dean says with a smug grin. If it's slightly forced, well that's Dean's business.

Sam rolls his eyes. "No idea what Castiel sees in you," he mutters.

Dean leans against the door. "Well it could be --"

Sam claps his hands over his ears and flees into his room.

Dean chuckles and opens the door to his room. He half hopes to find Cas sitting on the bed, but the room is empty. Dean sighs and kicks the door closed behind him. He locks the door, then pulls salt out of the duffel by the bed. Then re-salts the threshold and the window sill, then closes the blinds. He throws the the salt back into his duffel. He slides a knife under the pillow and makes sure there's holy water on the night stand.

You didn't forget these things. No matter how tired or hurt you were. It was one of his dad's first lessons, right after protect Sammy.

He plugs his phone into the charger and stares at it for a moment. Remembers how simply things used to be, when the big goal was to find dad.

"I still miss you, dad," Dean tells the empty room, not even sure why he's saying it.

Dean pulls of his boots and strips off his clothes. He leaves them in a pile on the floor.

The water pressure is shit but the water is hot and he leans against the cracked tiles. He lets the heat work on his bruises and muscles. He thinks for about two seconds about taking himself into his hand and jerking off, but he's too tired, too worn, and the kind of relief he needs isn't going to come from his own hand.

Dean doesn't bother wrapping a towel around himself as he steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel.

Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees, and his wings -- his beautiful, glorious wings -- resting against his back . The trench coat and jacket lie across and chair, and Dean loves how just that makes Cas look naked. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, come here often?" Dean asks, giving his angel a tired smile.

The angel gives Dean that confused little head tilt and regards him with unblinking eyes. His gaze slides dowards over Dean's chest and lingers on his cock. Naughty angel. "I've never been to this place before, Dean. Nor have you."

Dean laughs and shakes his head. "I'm not even sure if you're pulling my leg when you do that now." He walks over to the bed and Cas frames his hips with long-fingered hands as soon as Dean's close enough.

"Maybe I do it to make you laugh," Cas suggests. His thumbs stroke over Dean's skin.

"Well, it works," Dean tells him unnecessarily. He curls towards Cas, tangling one hand in short black hair and resting the other against Cas' nape.

Cas nuzzles his stomach. "Good, I would have you happy when you're with me." Silken feathers brush across Dean's skin as Cas curls his wings about Dean in an embrace. And Dean knows now that for an angel, embracing another with their wings is a very intimate act. A thing only done with loved ones.

"You didn't always think that way," Dean reminds him as Cas tugs him down to straddle his lap. Those soft black wings enfold him. "My happiness came second."

Dry lips drag across Dean's collar bone. "I have always thought that way, Dean. I didn't posses the means or the knowledge to make it so." There's something mournful in Cas' tone and Dean kisses him to silence it.

Dean buries his fingers in Cas' feathers, relishing the tremor under him. "We were both asses," he says when he pulls away for air.

Wingtips caress Dean's back and he rests his forehead against Cas' shoulder. He tries to find the energy to starts unbuttoning Cas' shirt, to open his pants, but it just feels so good to rest.

"You are tired," Cas says.

Dean shakes his head. "Not that tired," he protests because he doesn't want Cas to leave. Because it's selfish to ask someone who doesn't sleep to just lay in bed with you.

Cas sighs into Dean's skin. "You must make everything difficult, mustn't you?"

"Stubborn, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Cas admonishes affectionately, even as he man -- angel- handles Dean into the bed. Dean lets him, Cas might be one of the few people he'd let. "I think I will keep you, regardless."

Cas slides into the bed, pressing his hot skin against Dean's back, curling a wing over Dean's body. Dean smells hay and cinnamon. Apple pie. Air before a thunderstorm.

"Can't get rid of me now," Dean slurs, already being dragged down by sleep.

A kiss is pressed between his shoulder blades. "I would have you wear my feather, Dean."

Dean knows those words have to be important, but before he's able to ask, he sleeps.

Dean dreams of wings and autumn skies.


End file.
